Feet full of blisters
At every step is a jerk of pain,
A vast desert it is
At every pace I stand to gain.
In tatters that I am
Hands and legs are on the wane
Like a injured prey
Folks about doubted if I am sane.
From all walks of life
They respect a downtrodden me
Care not for the attire
As they yearn a desire for free.
Cynics call it an illusion
It may be a matter of coincident,
All resembles a dream
But they come true by accident.
Hungry ad hoc solitude
Totally refreshing and in tune
The dervishes get pleasure
Savour light and breeze of Soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the first stanza oozes out the pain of the souls! the following are enjoyable! thank you for sharing!